Balance
by roses and hello
Summary: Charting Fleur's lack of enthusiasm about working for Gringotts, until she realises Bill Weasley works there too, and the couple dealing with wizard wartime.
1. somewhere i have never travelled

This begins in the summer of OOTP. I did mean to write more about Fleur adjusting to life in Britain, but maybe next time. General apology for Fleur's accent – not something I'm particularly adept at. I hope it's decipherable; let me know if it isn't.

Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Somewhere I have never travelled**

_(i do not know what it is about you that closes  
__and opens; only something in me understands  
__the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)  
_e.e. cummings

Fleur quickly discovered that Gringotts was nothing the bank in which her father worked. There, the very floors sparkled, and when Fleur had been younger, she had asked her father if they trapped precious stones in it. Her father had laughed at her, which she had not much liked.

At Gringotts, everything looked like goblins. Fleur spared her overseer a glance, and decided that one day she would ask if the diminutive woman were part-goblin. It was the only way to explain that_ nose_.

Fleur's own nose wrinkled at the thought – or, on second sniff, it was at the stench of the package she was unwrapping.

"Alors!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "What is _zat_?"

Her overseer let out a huffing sigh. "Is that from Flannery O'Connor? I thought you were instructed not to open any parcels with that name on it! Go wash your hands. Quick, girl. _Don't_ use magic; that tends to intensify the smell."

Fleur swallowed, looking down at her palms, which were beginning to turn a ghastly green colour. She clenched her hands into fists, heading for the employees' toilets, where she faced the problem of how to open the door without touching it.

"You know, it's not there for decorative purposes."

"Thank you," she said dryly, glancing up at the red-haired man. "Would you open it for me, please?"

"Since you ask so nicely." He bowed as he opened the door. "Mademoiselle, the ladies room awaits you."

Her lips quirked up in an involuntary smile. "Merci, monsieur."

* * *

Things settled down after the O'Connor incident, and Fleur learnt to read the senders' names first and to use her wand to unwrap things. Her task was to ensure items posted to Gringotts were dispatched to the correct vaults, and were not the plots of crabby old wizards trying to fill their relatives' vaults with excrement.

Whilst her job (or rather, her aptitude for her job) improved, she could not help but notice that she had no more friends than when she had first walked through the bank's doors. She frequently was on the brink of writing to some of the people she had befriended at Hogwarts, or even her old school friends, but her pride kept her back. She would not fabricate relationships, but they would notice if she did not mention individuals, and news about her job and living situations made for inadequate letters.

She took to eating at her desk, even though she knew most of the Gringotts staff went to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. The Leaky Cauldron could not cater for her delicate palate, she told herself. She couldn't bring herself to stomach the awful English food. Besides, she got more work done this way, and she cherished the twenty minutes or so a day that Goblin Woman spent with her husband (who Fleur suspected of being part-troll).

"Excuse me, is Barbara around?"

Fleur looked up and nearly choked on her mouthful of sandwich, recognising the red-haired stranger from her first week. "I am afraid she is 'aving lunch," she said as calmly as she could manage. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, offering him a flirtatious smile. "May I aid you?"

"Help."

She frowned at him, her smile diminishing somewhat. There was no need to waste it on a stupid man. "I do not understand."

He laughed. "Oh, generally we don't ask if we can _aid_ somebody, we ask if we can _help_ them. If you could tell Barbara to stop by Bill's office this afternoon, I'd be much obliged to you, Mademoiselle."

"Fleur," she answered. "My name is Fleur."

"Then I'd be much obliged to you, _Fleur_." He looked thoughtful, taking in the wrapped sandwich and glass of water on her desk. "Did you eat in here today? You're welcome to come to the Cauldron with us."

Fleur fiddled with her hair. "Oh, I did not 'ave much sleep last night," she lied, affecting a yawn behind her hand. "I 'ave been working very slowly today."

He did not look entirely convinced. "Well, maybe I can come up with something to help you sleep better," he said, winking at her. "I know how intolerable these long, lonely English nights can be to delicate French flowers like yourself, Fleur Delacour."

He had gone before she could do more than gape at him. Surely he was not being as brazen as she thought?

But he knew her full name, which meant he must be the man she had seen at Hogwarts.

* * *

Fleur spent the rest of the day unable to think of anything else. To her disgust, she found herself making excuses to Barbara and running off to the toilets hourly in the hope of bumping into the stranger again.

After the third time, she decided she was appalled by her attitude. She never would have behaved like this in France; it was silly to get moony-eyed over the first handsome man she encountered. She stormed back to her desk – but found her chair already occupied by a large stuffed lion.

"What-?"

"Bill Weasley dropped that off," Barbara said, giving Fleur a disapproving look. "He was going to wait around for you, but I said that you'd be eager to get back to your work."

"Mais _oui_. Merci, Barbara!" Fleur said, slipping back into French to annoy her overseer. She placed the lion on the floor. It would not do to show signs of weakness in the office, not when she had strived thus far to appear confident and flawless (incidents involving dragon droppings aside).

When she was back in her flat, though, she hugged the lion to her, clutching the thick mane and breathing in the faintly musty smell that suggested the toy had been sitting in a shop for a while.

* * *

Barbara had unintentionally given Fleur the information she needed. Before heading to her own office the next morning, Fleur tracked down Bill Weasley.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully. She noted he was sitting _on_ his desk, and smiled at the thought of what Barbara would do if she caught Fleur doing that. "What can I do for you, Mademoiselle?"

"I would like to thank you for all your 'elp yesterday," she said in a low voice. She was sure he had meant to off-balance her by that remark, and she meant to pay him back for it. "I was wondering… eef I am not asking too much… if you would 'elp me more in zat _department_."

She lifted her eyes in time to see his brows shoot towards his hairline. "Uhh." He blinked several times, swinging his legs back and forth. "Sure, yeah." He directed another of his charming smiles her way. "It'd be my pleasure, Mademoiselle."

"Oh, good! My Eenglish needs some 'elp. I would be 'appy to learn from you." Fleur smirked as she watched understanding flicker on his face, knowing he'd thought she was asking for help with her 'sleeping troubles'.

To his credit, he recovered quickly. "Yeah, great. Uhh, are you free after work?"

She paused, making it look like she was considering it (though she never had anything to do after work). "Yes. You can come to my office." She smiled at him again, triumphant. "You know where it is."

* * *

"Yes, Fleur, this is a traditional English picnic, and yes, Fleur, I know what expression you have on your face as you unpack the food my mother carefully prepared for us," Bill said, although, since he was lying down with his hand shielding his eyes, Fleur didn't believe him.

The apprehensive look slid right off her face when he mentioned his mother's involvement. That meant he had told his _mother_ about _her_. She bit her lip, careful not to look too pleased, since he hadn't exactly asked her out yet.

"It was very kind of 'er," she murmured, wincing as she pulled out another set of sandwiches.

"_H_er," he corrected, leaning up on his elbows. "_Huh_."

"_Huh_," she repeated obediently, though she never seemed to be able to pronounce the h sound in a sentence. It was difficult to undo eighteen years of silent h's.

"Very good," he praised, reaching over. She held her breath, but he only grabbed a ham and cheese sandwich and began unwrapping it.

It was getting ridiculous. They would meet up twice a week (thanks to her ingenious English lessons scheme), but he never seemed inclined to develop their relationship further. Fleur herself was very inclined, and made sure to bring an extra set of clothes to work, so he could see her at her best, out of those unflattering Gringotts work robes. It hadn't encouraged him.

Perhaps he preferred brunettes?

She let out a sigh.

"Something wrong?" Bill asked, squinting up at her.

She shook her head, sending him an impatient look. "Nuzzing," she said, although she was perfectly capable of saying 'nothing'. The worse her English appeared, the longer he would have to keep teaching her.

She would wear him down eventually.

"Ah, Fleur, I was wondering-"

… Or maybe she had worn him down already.

"Do you know Jasper at work? Jasper Morran?"

Fleur exhaled sharply. She tugged at strands of grass whilst she thought. Either he was trying to set her up, or he was dating Jasper himself. She wasn't sure which she'd rather, but she wouldn't let him 'um' and 'ah' for five minutes before getting to the point. "Bill," she said in a thoughtful voice, ignoring his question.

She'd thrown him off. "Yes?"

"When was it you realised first zat you liked men?"

She had the satisfaction of watching him choke, although her heart was in her mouth as she waited for his answer.

"Uh, Fleur – Fleur – I _don't_… well, not in the way that I think you mean." He cleared his throat. "Jasper was asking me if _you'd _like to go out with him, because he knows we're friends."

Well. She reached for a sausage roll, contemplating her answer. "Is eet usual for ze men 'ere to ask a girl for a date through a friend?"

"Not really," Bill replied. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be at all bothered by the fact that a man was asking her out.

"Zen my answer is no, until 'e can ask me out on 'is own."

He shrugged. "I'll let him know. Did you study those verbs that I gave you yesterday?"

* * *

Fleur dated Jasper. And Cuthbert, Edmund, Kieran, and Nigel. Her favourite was Edmund, though she continued seeing Jasper because she knew he was friends with Bill.

She expended her energies on keeping her relationship with Bill to that of teacher and pupil, politely refusing his invitations to lunch. It was easier then to only think of him in a teacher manner. In fact, she thought it might have been five hours since she had last thought of him in another manner. She wasn't even sure that his rescuing her from a burning castle constituted as thinking of him differently, since before he had leant down to kiss her, his mouth had opened to emit the sound of her alarm.

Fleur Delacour did not let a _man_ get the better of her.

That didn't stop her from being concerned about him, because she would have been concerned about any of her teachers at Beauxbatons. He fell asleep during two of her lessons in a row, so she left a stuffed bear on his desk at work with a note saying it was to help him rest.

When he fell asleep for the third time, it was in her flat. She did not have the luxury of being able to Apparate away. Instead, she shook him, hard.

"If I am boring you, Bill, we do not need to continue zese lessons," she said dryly, hoping he would correct her.

He blinked, gradually beginning to focus on her. She hadn't bothered to move back, and now she was certain his eyes were on her mouth. "Thanks, Fleur," he said slowly, pulling away from her and yawning. "I just didn't get much sleep last night."

"What were you doing?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

He avoided her eyes, stretching out. "Where were we? The passive?"

Fleur was interrupted by an owl scrabbling at the window. She unlatched the window to let it in, and it dropped a letter with Bill's name on it at her feet.

"Bill, it is for you," she said, picking it up and nearly throwing it at him as the owl flew back out the window. It was from his girl, she was sure of it. The girl who was keeping him up all night so he was too tired for Fleur.

He opened the letter, and grinned. "Hey, it's from my mum. My youngest brother's a prefect. Blimey, I didn't think that would happen, not with Harry Potter in his year."

"'Arry is not a prefect?" she asked, astonished. "But – 'Ogwarts do not believe ze 'orrible papers, no?"

Bill shook his head, folding the letter back up. "Nah, Dumbledore believes Harry. Odd, though. Harry seemed the obvious choice."

"Of course 'e is! 'E saved my sister!"

"And mine," Bill replied. "Ron's a good sort, though. And I guess Harry was just nearly expelled. Maybe Dumbledore thought it would draw too much attention to him."

Fleur snorted. "Zis man, ze one everybody knows of, 'e will not stop because 'Arry is not a _prefect_."

Bill regarded her thoughtfully. "You believe he's back, then? Voldemort?"

There was that name again, that stupid name that she could not bring herself to say. It brought all these memories of Cedric back, of the brave, strong boy she had known. She merely nodded in response to Bill's question, her eyes filling with tears.

"There, now, you're all right," he said comfortingly, drawing her into his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around her. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against him. "Of course 'e is back; 'Arry Potter would not lie."

She wasn't keen on moving, but he had other ideas, giving her a final squeeze before letting go. "I'd better be off – sorry, Fleur. Mum wants to have a party for Ron, and if Hermione's not the other Gryffindor prefect, I'll eat my wand."

"Goodbye," she said reluctantly, watching him gather up his things. "Until tomorrow."

He nodded, looking around to see if he'd forgotten anything. "Thanks for my bear, Fleur, I think I forgot to say before."

"It did not work. You are still tired," she pointed out sullenly.

"I'll be less tired tomorrow, I promise," he assured her, and any sulkiness vanished as he kissed her on the cheek. "Bye, Fleur."

* * *

She had no opportunity to see how tired he was the following day. In fact, she had no sight of him for a week – and then she was told apologetically that he was too busy to talk to her.

Fleur reacted calmly, on the whole. She did not persist in trying to see him, nor did she attempt to flaunt the fact that she was seeing one of his friends.

(She did cling to the lion at night, but she forgave herself that, since nobody else knew of it)

She made friends that she could write about in letters to her family, and she even managed to contact Viktor Krum, having struck up a reasonable friendship with him during the Triwizard Tournament. She debated about writing to Harry, but decided against it. They hadn't really been friends, and she was sure other people could offer better words of comfort.

He obviously needed them. Fleur would read the Daily Prophet to practise her English, and her anger grew with every slight on the hapless fifteen-year-old.

"Barbara around?"

Fleur glanced up and swallowed her curses – apparently along with her voice, for it was several moments before she could tell Bill that Barbara was out for lunch. She returned to the accounts, painfully aware how this resembled their first meeting.

Bill closed the door, unfortunately on his way _into_ the office. "Are you all right, Fleur?"

She nodded, keeping her attention fixed on her work. Her 'Veela charms' had never seemed to have much success with Bill, and she didn't fancy trying them again now.

"You stopped asking for English lessons."

"Yes, I found it rather difficult wiz my teacher running away from me all ze time," she responded coolly, grinding her teeth when he merely laughed at her. "Barbara would not like you sitting zhere."

He stood up, raising an eyebrow at her. "I never ran away from you," he told her in a flat voice.

Fleur waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, though rather regretted it when she remembered that hand held a quill. "Do not worry yourself, Bill, you are not ze only British wizard around. Barbara enjoys correcting me, I zink she would be miserable if I got any better."

He smiled at her, and she wondered if Bill could be part-Veela, from the way she felt her heart flutter.

"I… heard you finished things with Jasper."

Her lip curled with distaste. That had resulted in quite the scene in Diagon Alley, with Jasper shouting declarations of love after her. "Yes. I 'ope 'e feels better now."

Bill shifted his weight from foot to foot, finally gaining her full attention. Was Bill _nervous_? She didn't think she had ever seen Bill nervous. Before she could ascertain whether he was for certain, he had asked her to tell Barbara that he'd dropped by, and left the office.

* * *

Weeks went by, and the nature of her relationship with Bill dissolved into a nod here and there when they happened to come across one another. There was the odd stilted conversation, but nothing promising.

(She still held onto the lion at night, but it had become a comfort thing, more than anything else)

Before she knew it, Christmas was almost upon her. Gabrielle had written to her to beg her return for the length of the Beauxbatons holiday, and Fleur acquiesced happily. She was to return home the day after next, but now she was content to stroll through Diagon Alley listening to one of her new friends babble on about… well, Fleur was busy trying to avoid the muddy puddles; snow had fallen overnight and by midday had turned to sludge.

It was only when Jennifer said, "Oh, hi, Bill!" that Fleur began to pay attention. He gave them a weak smile, but did not stop to talk.

"Did you hear?" asked Jennifer, her voice taking on the hushed tones of a gossip. Fleur shook her head mutely. "His father got taken into St Mungo's. Seriously ill, apparently."

Fleur stopped in her tracks, right foot splashing into a pool of melted snow. She barely noticed. "I 'ave 'ad enough walking today," she announced, releasing Jennifer's arm. "I 'ave work to do."

Without waiting for Jennifer to respond, she hurried back to Gringotts, not even removing her outdoor cloak until she reached Bill's office.

"I am sorry," she said breathlessly.

He regarded her coolly. "Okay."

"For your fazzer."

It occurred to her how ridiculous she must seem, running after him like that when they hadn't spoken properly in months. His distant manner was all that kept her from throwing herself at him. He looked like he hadn't _slept_, his hair and clothes were dishevelled, and his eyes were red.

"Okay."

She lingered in the doorway a little longer, uncertain, and he let out a snort.

"Not going to apologise for ignoring me then?"

Fleur stared at him, astonished. "_Ignoring_ you?"

Bill's lips pressed together tightly. "Months, Fleur. You've been ignoring me for months, you can't deny that." His voice was hoarse, sounding slightly cracked in places.

She fumbled at the ties of her cloak, hoping removing it would get rid of the heated blush she could feel spreading across her cheeks. How could he have thought that she was ignoring him? _Honestly._ "I wasn't. You…" She frowned, remembering. "You were busy, and busy, and I found friends."

"Over here, we don't drop our old friends for new ones."

She knew it was just concern for his father making him speak like this, but the gibe stung as intended. "Stop it, Bill."

"I thought you wanted me to teach you about English customs?" He regarded her, his eyes narrowing. "Or was that just until you found somebody _better_? That's what you did with Jasper, isn't it? Kept him hanging on till you found somebody better."

Fleur's hands clenched into fists. She had at least had the courtesy to finish with Jasper when she had decided to stop dating him, and that had only been because he was Bill's friend. "Would you like to be my Eenglish teacher again, Bill? I do not want a teacher 'oo is always falling asleep during my lessons!"

A pained look crossed his face. "That was once," he murmured, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Three times," she replied, the indignation leaving her voice.

He sighed heavily. "Maybe you should go."

She folded her arms across her chest. "And you will pretend still zat I am a nasty girl 'oo ignores you?"

"I don't think you're nasty," Bill said, though he wasn't convincing. "I'm sorry, Fleur. It's been a rough few days. I'm just not coping as well as I'd like."

"Will 'e be okay?" Fleur asked tentatively.

"Yeah, he's pulling through. Us Weasleys are pretty hard to get rid of." He flashed her a weak smile.

She already knew that, having spent months trying to be rid of him. She was aware that she was subjecting herself to more heartache, but that would be in the upcoming weeks and Gabrielle could distract her. Impulsively, she flung her cloak aside and crossed the room to wrap her arms around him tightly. It was an awkward movement, considering he tensed in his seat.

"You should go," he repeated, quieter this time.

She settled herself on the edge of his desk instead, crumpling pages but not caring. "You are not all right," she said quietly. "I would like to… help."

Bill leaned back in his chair, bracing his head against his hands. He must have noticed that she was mastering the 'h' sound, because his face relaxed, the frown vanishing. "It's war," he said softly. "There are casualties in war, that's just the way it goes."

Fleur's fingers gripped the desk corner tightly. War. She had heard about the first time Voldemort had come to power. He had not reached France, but the scars were still deep in Britain – so deep that they still could not voice his name, though they believed him gone. He might not reach France this time. If Britain fell, her family could flee easily, could set up protections. He would be stopped eventually, even if Britain fell.

If Britain fell, Bill might lose all his relations, all his school friends, all his colleagues. For what? For sport, for fun?

Before she could register what she was doing, she had leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bill's lips.

When Bill pushed her back, she felt as though the bottom was dropping out of her stomach. She didn't think she could feel worse, until he flicked his wand at the door, closing it. Anyone could have seen her kissing him.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking down at her lap. She seemed to be apologising all the time.

"Fleur. Fleur, look at me. It's a dangerous time, and it's only going to get worse. It's risky getting involved with me right now."

"I don't care," she answered heatedly, meeting his eyes. "Anytheeng could 'appen to anyone. _Cedric_ was not involved. It could 'ave been me."

Bill nodded. "I know, I know. I wanted to be sure you were aware of what you were getting yourself into."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "_Really_? It sounded to me like you were shouting."

He looked sheepish, pulling her off the desk and resting his forehead against her stomach. She stroked his hair, feeling a little light-headed at the speed with which everything seemed to be changing. "I was jealous. I'm sorry. I've been jealous for a little while now, and I guess it all just built up."

Fleur smiled despite herself. "You shouldn't ask me out for ozzer men. Silly boy."

"I resent that," he informed her abdomen.

Before she could retort that she didn't care what he resented, he had lifted her onto his lap.

"I did just recall a reasonably effective way of silencing impertinent women," he said thoughtfully.

Fleur smiled at him, reaching a hand to toy with his hair. "Per'aps you could use it on Barbara?" she suggested. "She will probably notice I am not at my desk."

"I don't think _Barbara_ would quite appreciate this," Bill informed her, grinning. "You'll have to work that one out on your own. No, this method is best used on cheeky mademoiselles."

She had time to utter, "Per-" before he kissed her.


	2. since feeling is first

Set during the end of HBP, to somewhere near the end of DH.

* * *

**since feeling is first**

_my blood approves,  
__and kisses are a better fate__  
than wisdom  
lady i swear by all flowers._  
(e.e. cummings)

Bill had always been a happy-go-lucky child, a things-will-be-all-right-in-the-end friend, a you're-safe-with-me boyfriend. He had always seen reason to hope.

But hope was being snuffed out all over England as the news of Dumbledore's death travelled, and he was _frightened_, and he hurt more than anything.

And he had Fleur.

Fleur, with her proud eyes and that way of tossing her hair, and he was acutely aware of how lucky he was to have her at all.

"Fleur," he began, tracing a pattern on the clean white sheets with his finger.

"No."

He glanced up at her, startled by her flat interruption before he'd even had a chance to really think through what he wanted to say. "No?"

"_No_," she said, more vehemently. "You are going to tell me that I would be much safer outside of zis war, zat it ees not my place, and you are wrong, William!" (He winced, not only at the use of his near-forgotten full first name, but at the cold, _English_ way she pronounced it) "I was ze Champion for Beauxbatons, and you seem to zhink ze best Beauxbatons could offer ees not good enough for your country!"

There were a number of holes in her argument, even allowing for the fact that he thought her the very best of witches. She had only been Champion for her year, after all, and she had hardly won the thing. But then, Bill thought sadly, raising a hand to brush through her hair, the entire Wizarding World had lost at that Triwizard Tournament.

"I only want to keep you safe, Fleur," he said gently.

She shrugged, turning her head so her hair fell out of his grasp. "I only want you," she replied fiercely. "Even though you are a very silly man."

Bill couldn't help it – he smiled at that, however much the ensuing pain made him wish he hadn't bothered. "I can try to be more serious, if it would please my lady," he offered. When she raised her eyebrows at him, unimpressed, he let out a laugh, or what passed for a laugh given the circumstances. "I didn't actually ask you to leave, you goose. I know you. I know that I couldn't keep you here if you didn't want to be, and I know that I couldn't make you stay away if you didn't want to."

There wasn't any point in telling her to leave, after all. In his mind – even though he had lived abroad and thought he might spend his life on foreign soils, once – if Britain fell, the world fell. France was only a stone's throw away from England by Voldemort's measures.

Fleur's set, white face softened. "Oh, Bill," she murmured, and he studied his sheets again, waiting for her to collect herself. Usually – as he was painfully aware – he would have reached out and drawn her into a hug, but today he simply couldn't bear to. If she started to cry, he thought he might break.

Dumbledore's death seemed to have imposed time limits on their own lives. Bill's heartbeat felt like a countdown rather than an affirmation of life.

"I – I z- _th-ought_ you would tell me to leave," she said quietly, brushing his hair back from his face.

"I couldn't," he replied, equally softly. "I need you, Fleur."

She smiled, dropping a kiss on the top of his forehead, carefully avoiding the patchwork of cuts across his face. "You are more pack already."

"Pack?"

"_Oui_. You 'ave been a lonely lion too long, my love. You 'ave not been a Gryffindor for years."

Bill swatted at her face playfully. "I'm not a lion, dearest. I assure you that I do _not_ need reminding of this point." Because the wounds from being too weak, too _helpless without his wand_ were still fresh, after all. He didn't think it appropriate to point out that lions lived in packs as well.

"You could 'ave fooled me," Fleur said airily, using an expression he supposed she'd picked up from their mutual friend Jasper. "You 'ave always been ze leader, no? Wiz your bruzzers and Ginny, and when you were ze 'Ead Boy."

It was true. He was no longer first. Not first to be marked by the Second War. Not first to have been attacked by Voldemort's followers. Not even the first in the family.

To stave off his melancholic train of thought, he asked, "So, where's Mum, then?"

Fleur shrugged. "She was 'ere earlier, but said she would come back later. We are friends now."

Bill gave her a wary look. "How long was I out for?"

She laughed, and some of the pressure weighing Bill's heart down lifted. He thought maybe things might be all right, if only he could just keep Fleur laughing. The sound stopped all too suddenly, and she raised his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. "We found somezing we 'ad in common after all."

He understood her meaning right away, but he didn't want to talk of nearlys and almosts, even as he was contemplating a world in which his mother and sister got along with his sweetheart. Well. Maybe expecting Ginny to give up her inexplicable hatred of Fleur was a bit ridiculous, but it was something to look forward to. And in a world in which Voldemort was climbing back to his former, feared position, surely having something to hope for was wonderful and inspiring?

Dumbledore probably would have thought so.

"You are very quiet, my love," Fleur muttered, pressing kisses to his shoulder.

Bill had been holding his breath without realising it, and slowly, he grinned. "I feel caught half-way between the here-and-now and my old Hogwarts days. It's being stuck in here that's doing it," he added, waving a hand around to indicate the hospital wing. "Spent loads of time here when I first started trying to play Quidditch. Wasn't that good at it, of course. Charlie ran rings around me in his first practise session."

"I cannot imagine that," Fleur said loyally, but Bill could, in his mind's eye, still see Charlie's triumphant smile, and the many, many letters he had received from the twins once they had found out.

Suddenly needing her closer, he shifted over awkwardly in his bed, and wordlessly held his arms out to her.

"You are not serious, Bill," declared Fleur. "Your Madam Pomfrey, she will 'ave my head for zis."

"She'll have to get past me first," Bill said, mock-seriously. "Come on, Fleur. No one's going to care, not now – not now."

Those large blue eyes fixed on his, and then she nodded, clambering into the bed beside him. The bed rocked slightly as she settled – it was intended for single teenagers, and not two fully-grown adults. Discomfort was nothing, however, and it was even worth risking Madam Pomfrey's wrath to feel some of the ache ease from Dumbledore's death.

"I love you," Fleur murmured drowsily, her eyelids fluttering closed. He smiled, and pressed a kiss to her hairline, ignoring the cramp setting into his arm as she fell asleep against him.

* * *

They discussed postponing the wedding, but it was only half-hearted, and it was _nice_ to have a wedding to plan to offset the horrors of war. Even if Fleur expected his opinion on daft things like what kind of chairs the guests sat on. Would anybody notice?

Still, he made the effort to pay attention, because his life was filling up with Imperiused colleagues, and Death Eaters wandering around in plain sight, still stinking of Azkaban. Whatever flowers they had were insignificant in comparison, but he wanted Fleur to have the wedding of her dreams – as far as was possible, at any rate.

Dreams descended into the stuff of nightmares when Kingsley's announcement sent shockwaves through the wedding.

"Go to Shell Cottage," he murmured to his wife of just a few short hours. Surely, surely this wasn't going to be taken from him now. "I'll meet you there later."

"You go," Fleur answered mulishly, steel in her eyes, "and _I _will meet _you_ there later."

He took her in, her fierce, proud stance, and that thrust of her chin, and felt a rush of elation that they were married. It was a small light that burned inside him, and no amount of Death Eater smirks or sharp demands could dispel. Whilst the Death Eaters ransacked the house, Fleur laid her head on his shoulder and threaded her fingers through his.

Bill's throat was dry as he waited for the inevitable questions about the ghoul, and his wand hand twitched, but the questions never came. Nor were there awkward moments when Harry's stuff was discovered – because Harry's stuff wasn't there anymore. Not for the first time (and, he suspected, not for the last either), he was impressed by the nous of his kid brother and friends. They'd need every inch of talent to get through the dark days ahead.

"They're breaking our wedding gifts," Fleur said mournfully, closing her eyes against this fresh horror. "No, don't move. You'll make zem worse."

"I'll buy you more things," Bill promised, hand tightening in hers, and finding her wedding ring cutting into his palm.

She gave a low laugh. "I do not need _things_, Bill."

It was dark before they were able to leave the Burrow, and they stared in mute horror up at their marital home, which had already been paid a visit by Death Eaters. Evidently the thoughts they'd entertained of enjoying the remainder of their wedding day were going to remain a fantasy.

* * *

"I do not understand," Bill heard Fleur say as he Apparated into the kitchen. Cautiously (how he longed for the days where he didn't suspect every guest), he pulled his wand out, and crept towards her voice. "Ze ozzers, zey are gone?"

"Yeah. Look, can I stay here or what?"

Bill breathed a sigh of relief as he recognised Ron's defensive tones. Nevertheless, it didn't hurt to be careful. He entered the living room, his wand trained on his brother. "What was the score of the first Quidditch match Ron went to see?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Is that really necessary? You couldn't have asked _anything_ else?" Bill raised his eyebrows, his wand unwavering though he was now certain this was Ron. "Fine. 690-0. The Chudley Cannons' biggest defeat to their local rivals," he explained to Fleur.

"What are you doing here?" Bill asked, pocketing his wand.

"Thought I'd come here for a visit," Ron answered uneasily, looking at the carpet. "D'you mind?"

Bill's eyes flicked to Fleur, and she shook her head. "Why didn't you go to the Burrow?"

Ron's cheeks burned. "If you don't want me, I'll just be on my way."

"I didn't say that," Bill reminded him. "But if you want to stay here, you need to fill me in on a few things."

Tactfully, Fleur exited at that point, declaring that Ron was looking peaky and could do with a good meal. The prospect of food calmed his youngest brother, who sat rubbing his eyes, and suddenly looking far older than seventeen.

"Did you ever come across a curse that got inside you?" Ron asked quietly, massaging his neck. "Something that got inside your head, say, and maybe affected the way you acted?"

"What kind of curse?" Bill enquired, taking Fleur's vacated seat. "Did somebody place it on you, or was it a spelled object?"

"No – nothing – I can't," Ron said brokenly. "Never mind. Look, I left them. It's hard – it's so hard knowing you've got to steer clear of the entire flipping country, otherwise you're not only putting yourself in danger, but your whole family. The other two, they don't have family. They don't get it."

Digesting this, Bill drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "So you left them to make it easier on Mum and Dad?"

"No!" Ron burst out. "We argued, and I left just for a second, and then I got attacked, and by the time I got back, they were gone. Or I couldn't find them."

It was difficult to judge Ron's actions, when his kid brother had faced as much – and now, perhaps more – than Bill himself. Bill didn't know if _he _would have been able to handle things, were he in Ron's shoes. Fleur took a far more black-and-white view of the matter when he recounted it to her in bed late that night.

"Ron should 'ave stayed," she said bluntly. " 'Arry, he did not 'ave much to start wiz, and now zhere is even less."

She did not, to his relief, bring this opinion up around Ron, and they merely adapted their life to suit their outlaw, until, one day, he vanished.

"Now we are all alone again," Fleur whispered when the disappearance was discovered, her fingers at the clasp of his cloak. "We must find some way of filling our time…"

* * *

Wartime got blacker and blacker. One night, huddled up in their favourite armchair, they had to have the talk about children, and decided that it wasn't the right time to bring a baby into the world. They would wait for victory, and keep faith with the resistance movement that it would come eventually.

They had Kingsley to stay for a few weeks, feeding him up before he went on the run again. Fleur declared privately how she would hate to be hunted in that way – when, all of a sudden, Ron did the thing he had feared, and put the whole Weasley family in danger.

Not that Fleur minded when it happened, save for having to wait on a troublesome goblin. It was nice to have the house full, even if it was overspilling with fugitives. The secrets and deceptions itched at Bill; he longed to be included, though he knew the three trusted only each other. It was better, safer that way – but still, over-reliance on the goblin would be to their detriment. There were only two things he could think of to cause them to need a goblin; Gringotts, or treasure. Neither left him feeling easy.

"I thought we agreed to stay out of it," Fleur reminded him, after having caught him speaking to Harry in the kitchen. "Zat we didn't need to make zheir lives any 'arder by forcing zem to tell us ze truth – or forcing zem to lie to us. Zat is what you said, no?"

"Yes," he agreed, sighing. "I just want them to be careful. Especially now."

"_Oui,_" she said, stretching out in bed, her blonde hair fanning out beneath her. "And after 'aving been on ze run since ze summer wizout your 'elp, zey are in need of it now?"

"They never had to rely on a goblin before," Bill murmured darkly.

"You are certain of zis?" Fleur enquired – and he had to admit, he wasn't. "If you must advise somebody, you could tell Luna my 'ouse is not infested wiz Nargles."

Bill chuckled, reaching out to cup her face in his hand. "I would have more luck getting information out of those three."

"We are both in need of a little – _distraction_," Fleur suggested.

They did not, as it happened, need to distract themselves for long; Ron, Harry, and Hermione soon made their departure, along with Griphook. That evening, Dean and Luna vanished after dinner, leaving Shell Cottage suddenly seeming very big and empty.

Not half an hour after that, Bill's heart was in his mouth as George's patronus materialised – _we shouldn't have let them go, we should have made them tell us the plan, we should have done things differently_ – but it was a call to arms. Finally, _finally_, they were able to act, after months of sitting on the sidelines.

"Wait," Fleur entreated, taking his hands in hers. She searched his face, though he didn't know what she hoped to find amid the scars. "I love you."

He freed one of his hands to slip his fingers under her chin, and tilt her face up for a kiss, aware as he did so that it might be the last. "I love you too."

* * *

fin.

Contemplating a final chapter on their family life or, alternatively, leaving it here. Hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading! Extra thanks for anyone who reviews!


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